Missing Pieces
by OddLittleBrit
Summary: They were a family, the four of them, until Arthur is called to the hospital, and suddenly their family is falling apart around them - A FACE family tale that has Arthur making the best of a bad situation, but is he as in control as he'd like to think?
1. Chapter 1

**AN: Not much to say about this really, it popped into my head, and I have a few ideas of extra things I could add, I already have a second instalment ready, and one more in planning. They're not very long though, I just kinda rolled it out - but yes! FACE family, with the kiddies around 8/9? I don't believe I specified heheh**

**WARNINGS: Some description of wounds but not in much detail**

**DISCLAIMER: Hetalia is not mine hehe**

* * *

The doctor lead him through the halls and corridors, reassuring him that little Matthew was in good hands with the nurses - but none of it was really making sense. They thought his little boy was dead. They thought his husband was dead. They wanted him to identify them. They wanted him to see them.

They weren't dead, he told himself, they just weren't. They couldn't be. They'd been out for ten minutes to go pick up a surprise they had said, leaving Arthur to keep an eye on Matthew, how could they have been in an accident in the space of ten minutes?! But as the lift got closer, more and more signs for the morgue cropped up, and suddenly they were down in the much cooler depths of the hospital.

Everything about the place screamed death, the grey walls and the cold, the frosted glass and shady silhouettes that moved around. Arthur could hear faint cries behind some of them and his stomach dropped when he realised he was about to do the same thing. He was identifying bodies. He struggled to place one foot in front of the other, so he concentrated on that, because otherwise he might collapse under the weight of everything buzzing around his head.

He hadn't even noticed they'd stopped until he bumped into the doctor. He went to apologise but he couldn't find his voice. He coughed, licking his lips and shaking his head "I-I'm sorry," he said, as the doctor opened the door.

This room was even worse, because once the frosted glass of the door was gone, everything was all too clear. The two tables, the two blankets, and the two figures underneath them. Arthur's heart thudded so loudly it flooded his ears, and he couldn't hear the words the doctor spoke as they stepped closer. He prayed, oh he prayed over and over again that it was all just a mistake. These were two other unfortunate souls, and Francis and Alfred were still in the shopping centre.

But they weren't and oh God, the doctor was uncovering one of the figures. Time had slowed so much that Arthur struggled to find breath. It was him, it was Alfred. He knew from the first second, that sunny blonde hair and that one strand that curled up defiantly - that was his son. His hand flew to his mouth, and the tears he had been trying to hide flooded out.

This was his little boy, his son who lay cold on the metal table. Stripped of his clothes, his glasses, his smile, his glow. Stripped of life. Instead, he lay white as a sheet, save for the sickening cuts along his neck and shoulders. The jagged lines ran the length of his neck, and though the doctors had done their best to clean it up, it only meant the wounds were visible in much more detail. There may not have been any blood, but suddenly the smell of it clogged Arthur's lungs as images of what Alfred's last moments must have been like.

"He bled out, Mr. Kirkland, but even if we had been able to stop it, he had serious head trauma. He may never have woken up," the doctor said, in her hushed tones. So, Arthur reasoned, at least he didn't feel it? He prayed it had been quick.

"C-can I… touch him?" he asked, well aware of how his voice cracked. The doctor nodded, and Arthur's hand shot out to stroke his son's cheek. It was stone cold. His little boy, his baby. Nothing else mattered now, his little boy was dead. Everything that could have been, everything that was around the corner for Alfred, had gone, in the blink of an eye. It took all Arthur's strength to stay on two feet. He'd have done anything to trade places.

He had done the five years in school, he had done university, he'd had his first kiss, the dates and the drama, the friendships - everything Alfred was yet to do.

He took a deep breath (another that Alfred wouldn't) and looked over to the other side of the room. Another sheet to be pulled back. Another person lost. He wasn't sure he could take it. But he had to. He had to know. He had to be sure.

"Sir, I warn you, Mr. Bonnefoy suffered severe head injuries… he doesn't look exactly… right," she said, and Arthur flinched. How dare this woman say his husband was anything less than perfect! Anger flared in him, but it was doused with utter shock when she pulled back the second sheet.

It was Francis, he could tell that from one side of his face. One side, his left, looked so perfect that he could almost be sleeping. He looked so peaceful, he always did - but the other side, the side that must've faced the window, was so disfigured, so destroyed… cuts ran from his hairline to his chin, his nose ripped to pieces on the one side. His mouth was extended in a gruesome smile of scars, and Arthur couldn't even look at the mess it had made of his chest. He shook his head, bile rising in his throat.

"I-I can't… he's… what happened?!" he snapped, glaring at he doctor. Used to such reactions, she lifted the sheet to cover Francis's body, but Arthur stopped her, staring into her eyes. "Did… was it quick?" he asked, one hand reaching out the stroke the hair that was left on Francis' head. This would be the last time he would.

She looked down, and sighed sadly. "We can't say, I'm sorry. It's possible he was unconscious from the moment of impact though," she said, and he let her go. He turned slightly, standing between the two tabled, between two of the most important people in the world, and gave them each one long last look. He had so many questions, so many wishes and regrets, things he wished he had said. The doctor interrupted his train of thought, saying

"I can take you back to your son when you're ready," and for a fleeting second, he thought she meant Alfred.

Matthew.

He had to explain this to Matthew.


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: And here's part two, heheh, there's still possibly a funeral scene to come so keep your eyes peeled :D**

**DISCLAIMER: Hetalia's still not mine**

* * *

Arthur threw the tissue into the bin, closing it softly with one hand while the other slipped another packet into his dressing gown pocket. He turned from the kitchen and it's emptiness, and went into the front room. Matthew was still silently curled on the end of the sofa. A glance at the clock told him it was 10.

He was tired. So very tired. Yet he couldn't sleep. He couldn't sleep in bed, it was too lonely, downstairs he was alone too. Any time he closed his eyes everything became the accident. He was there and he watched as his son and husband died, every time. He just couldn't.

Arthur stepped forward, and perched himself on the sofa next to Matthew. The boy didn't even acknowledge him, just stared into the empty fireplace. Arthur ran a hand over his chin. Matthew was not the most talkative child, so even after some three years they weren't exactly comfortable with each other. Arthur didn't love him any less though, and now he had a responsibility; to Francis, to care for his son, and Alfred to protect his brother.

He lent forward, glancing over at Matthew.

"I don't know about you," he said, "but I'm not sure if I want to go up to bed right now," he paused, waiting for a response. Matthew gripped his bear tighter and peered at him through red-rimmed eyes. Arthur continued. "It's okay, you know - to not want to go somewhere you shared with them right away."

Matthew sat up a little. "It is?" Arthur nodded, shuffling a little closer. "It isn't nice at first. So you're welcome to spend the night down here with me," he said softly, holding out his arms. It took Matthew a few seconds to think the offer through, before he hurtled himself into Arthur's arms. He was almost winded the speed the young boy shot at him with, and he wrapped his arms around his chest. Arthur glanced down, and wrapped his own arms around the boy, squeezing him tightly. He could feel Matthew trembling, sobbing into his chest, so he rubbed his back and let him cry it all out.

"I-I miss them A-Arthur!" He wailed, and Arthur welled up too. "So do I Matthew, so do I'" he said, pulling back and lifting the boys chin. He took a deep breath in an attempt to calm himself and produced a thin smile.

"But hey, l-look at it this way," he began, pulling out the pack of tissues and offering them to Matthew, who took one without hesitation, "They're together, and I'll bet they're missing us too. But they'll look after each other - Francis is a great father," he said, and Matthew gave him a watery grin

"A-and Alfie, he's the bestest hero, so he'll protect Papa!"

Arthur felt a lump in his throat, and another wave of tears roll down his cheeks. What an awful thing had been ruined by this. Matthew loved Alfred and Francis so much, it was hard to believe a little boy had such a big heart.

"I'm sure he will Matthew," Arthur managed to croak and then he pulled the young boy into another hug. "And I promise you, I will protect you too. I'll make sure you're okay, I will keep you safe and I will be here for you, you know that?" He said, burying into Matthew's soft locks. He felt him nod, and squeeze his waist.

"Y-yeah… You're a great dad too, Arthur…"

Arthur wasn't sure if the noise he made was a laugh or a sob, but what he did know was that was the first time Matthew had called him a dad.

* * *

It was only a week later that the funerals were to be held. The Friday before, Arthur came downstairs bright and early at six - another night of not sleeping, another night spent sleeping in the armchair by the bed. It was just too empty without Francis. He came down and flicked on the kettle, and as he waited, poured himself some cereal. He slid some toast down for Matthew and Alfred - that was the sixth time he'd done that this week. Hurriedly, he swiped the extra slices from the toaster and threw them into the bin before Matthew could see. He had to make this easier for him. He bustled around, making his drink, washing the plates from last night and making the rest of Matthew's breakfast.

He was poking at his cereal when Matthew came in, and then asked "A-Arthur, why are you making coffee?" Arthur glanced down to see, indeed, two cups. He swore under his breath and then remembered Matthew was in the room. The small boy's mouth hung open a little. Arthur ran his hands over his face and sighed. "I'm sorry. Sorry Matthew, sorry, I'll… Put it away," he said. He gave the boy a once over. "Have you brushed your teeth?" He said, after making sure he was all dressed. Matthew shook his head. "Well I did you some toast, have that and then go do them, yes?"

Matthew, as always, did as he was told, while Arthur quietly poured away the coffee and washed up the mug. He stood by the sink, glancing over his shoulder every so often to check on Matthew. He had eaten all but two bites of the toast, and instead sat, clutching his bear that had managed to be snuck down from bed again. Arthur chewed his lip as he thought.

He didn't know Matthew that well, he had to face it. When he and Francis had married, Matthew was five, and very quiet, unlike Alfred who had bonded with Francis pretty much from day one. The few times that Arthur and Matthew had first been alone together, Matthew hadn't said a word, only nodding or shaking his head when Arthur asked if he wanted anything - the only exception being the appropriate please and thank you's. in the years that followed, they gradually got closer. Yet Arthur still wasn't at the stage where he could tell Matthew's mood from his posture, or read his face like he could Alfred. It was difficult.

With a glance at the clock he realised Matthew had been sitting still for almost ten minutes, so he pulled up the chair next to him. It took the boy a few seconds to notice him there, and he turned with raised eyebrows.

"Matthew, are you okay?" He asked, getting a nod in reply. "Are you sure? You've hardly eaten a thing, and you didn't have dinner last night." As Matthew toyed with the badge on his school jumper, Arthur had an inkling as to what it might be.

"Are things okay at school?" He asked. The fidgeting stopped. So it was. "You can tell me, you know that," he reassured him. Matthew let out a long sigh.

"They… They're all treating me strange. Nobody will play with me. They just ask me about-" and then he stopped, and snapped his mouth shut.  
"About… Francis and Alfred?" Arthur asked softly. He had hoped this wouldn't happen. That parents and teachers would teach their children better than to interrogate poor Matthew. He'd have words later.

Matthew looked up to him, and his eyes were full of tears. Arthur opened his arms and let Matthew run into them. He stroked the boys soft locks, and said "Don't worry, you don't have to go in today, okay? I'll talk to your teacher, and it'll be better by Monday," he promised. Matthew looked up. "Y-you're sure? I-Is it okay if I-"

Arthur gave him a smile. "Of course it it, for today, of course," and he placed a small kiss on his forehead. That was another first.


End file.
